


at the clearing

by orphan_account



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: 3xR, Domestic, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Photo prompt, Picnic, Tumblr Prompt, marriage fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6452497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What?” he prodded. She shook her head. “What’s so funny?”</p>
<p>“We’re insane.” He snickered, barely managing not to choke on his sip of apple juice.</p>
<p>“That’s nothing new.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	at the clearing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SisterWine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterWine/gifts).



> Nothing remarkable. My PC is still dead.

Relena wasn't certain when she’s started counting lasts. Surely Trowa had something to do with it, she mused to herself as they continued down the footpath toward the clearing they both loved.

The last thank-you card to their exhaustive wedding list, moistened, stamped, and mailed. The last form she marked with her methodical, curling signature at the title office when they finalized their mortgage. The last time a landlord could consider them “tenants.” The last time her utility bill envelopes only displayed her maiden name in sans serif type. (“The couple that owes together, stays together,” Trowa mentioned dryly while she grumbled over the calculator.) _Relena and Trowa Barton_. That novelty, at least, hadn't worn off.

The ink on the marriage certificate only had six months to dry before her wedding band bit uncomfortably into her left finger, inexplicably snug. 

“It’ll fit again soon,” Trowa promised on a low murmur, warm and soothing against the side of her neck as she locked it away in her jewelry box, it's flawless pillow-cut pink diamond mocking her (and her puffy fingers).

“Stop trying to reassure me.” Yet her image reflected in his clear green eyes didn't lie to her. The curves of her face were rounder, the line of her neck and her collarbones less defined. He nibbled her bare finger, kissing the faint dent left in her flesh from the offending white gold.

It had been a struggle the last time she tried to pry it off, even with a smear of lotion easing the way. Trowa was sympathetic, certainly.

Yet Trowa could still see his own _feet_.

She glanced resentfully –gratefully? – down at the sensible, roomy espadrilles in bold red, still no consolation for the rows of lonely, abandoned wedges, kitten heels, boots and stilettos in the bottom of her closet. They hiked up the shallow incline, and Trowa’s grip on her hand was firm and strong. The last picnic, where it would be just the two of them. Earlier that week, they ate possibly the last dinner they would loll over in a grown-up restaurant, no placemats that you could color or lidded soda cups in sight. The sunlight blinded her as they came over the rise, and she was already tired of the weight of the folded quilt that she clasped under her arm while Trowa carried their basket, but the view was worth it. The California poppies swayed in the breeze on their spindly stems, competing with the mounds of clematis that edged the path. Trowa tightened his grip on her when she tripped over a gnarled root, concern in his eyes as she hissed in annoyance. Depth perception, she decided, was _not_ overrated.

Their last movie night without needing a sitter. The tuna salad felt cool in her mouth; by the third bite, she felt their son’s approving kicks. The last week their Honda Pilot’s middle seat would be unoccupied. Relena signed more thank-you cards while Trowa unpacked the car seat from its box and liberated it from its nest of styrofoam and packing tape. The last time they could make love at full volume… Ah, that had yet to be determined. Her lips twisted, and Trowa caught her low huff of laughter.

“What?” he prodded. She shook her head. “What’s so funny?”

“We’re insane.” He snickered, barely managing not to choke on his sip of apple juice.

“That’s nothing new.”

Her hand crept to her belly. “We’re really doing this.” Trowa chuckled again, and his bangs slid down to cover his eyes. He stretched out alongside her and caressed the taut dome.

“We’re really doing this,” he murmured. He smirked, and Relena swatted at his hand when he teased her breast. His expression sobered. “Hey.”

“What?”

“That means I’m gonna have to share these…”

Trowa, too, had a list of lasts.

“Awwwww.” She was wholly unsympathetic as she reached for the salt and vinegar chips.


End file.
